Jonathan, or ‘little Jonny,’ as he was affectionately known, even though he was now eighteen, was on holidays from college and desperate to earn some cash. As it happens, his mother had been chatting to Dorothy Chester recently, and she started to describe the plans she had for improvement of the big garden at the Chester family home.

When she mentioned needing some help to get started, his mother immediately thought of Jonny's need to earn, as well as her desire to get him out of the house from under her feet. There was the little matter of getting over from their home some eight miles away, but it was Spring, the days were getting longer, and he was quite happy to start and end the day with a cycle ride. It would help with his general fitness too, she thought, and reluctantly, he agreed.

He arrived at 9.30 am at the Chester house on the Wednesday for his first day’s work. He turned up the front path, dismounted and locked up his bike by the front door. As he approached the door bell to the house, the inner porch door opened, and a smiling Dorothy Chester came out.

She leant across to open the outer door. He knew her, but not very well.

“Hello Jonathan,” she said. “How was your ride?”

“Oh not bad,” he mumbled in his teenage way. “It took about fifty minutes.”

“That’s quick it’s quite a way isn’t it ?” she asked.

He entered the hallway and closed the inner door behind him.

“Not really, I like to keep my speed up”, looking around the room and at Mrs. Chester.

Dorothy glanced at the lad, small for his age but nearly as tall as her, lithe, slim and fit as far as she could tell.

“Well you look like a fairly athletic young man to me,” she said, smiling again.

She strode into the kitchen. Jonathan was dressed in his proper road cycling gear, polyester compound tee shirt, shorts and short socks, all light yellow, with black cycle shorts.

“Do you have some gardening clothes with you?” She asked him.

“Oh I knew there was something I had forgotten to bring,” he said in anguished tones.

Dorothy smiled. “Typical teenage boy,” she thought, “an airhead and unable to concentrate on more than one thing at once.”

“Not to worry you can borrow some of the boys’ old clothes, I am sure they will have something that will fit you. I will have a look upstairs. What would you like to drink?” She asked.

“Some juice would be good,” he said enthusiastically.

“Alright well help yourself from the fridge. Now what size are you ?” she asked as she was leaving the kitchen. She glanced up and down at him.

“Thirty inch waist I think.”

“What about your chest ?”

“Thirty- six may be,” he guessed.

“I will go and find something for you,” she said. She looked over him again and went upstairs, whilst he gulped back the juice.

In the boys’ clothes’ wardrobes, she took a look. She returned to him in the kitchen in a couple of minutes, with a long sleeved shirt and shorts.

“I expect you might get warm, so you will probably find these the most comfortable. You can change up in our room, or the bathroom.”

Jonathan downed his drink, and picking up the clothes, went upstairs. He couldn’t find the bathroom so went into the parents’ bedroom. There was a nice perfumed smell. He started to strip off and glanced around the room. There were two large framed pictures of her and her husband, on the wall. They looked as though they had been taken on a romantic weekend. Both were in black and white, with stark lighting.

He found himself drawn to the individual picture of Dorothy. She was leaning on a low chair. Forearms straight, breasts pinched between her upper arms, she was leaning over and looking up directly at the photographer, directly at Jonathan.

Her arms were half bared, but her breasts were fully covered, apart from a pear drop opening in her fluffy wool top. The space revealed a smooth round pair of breasts. She had a thin leather strap around one wrist ,with a lady’s watch on it, and a pair of loose metal bangles around the other. He looked down a little, and caught the faintest trace of a rise towards the end of each breast, just a tiny hillock in the fluff of her pullover top.

He assumed it indicated an erect nipple underneath. He realized then that in the picture she can’t have been wearing any support, but that by even the modest size of the hill in such a fluffy top, she must have some bullet pointed boobs.

He looked down at himself and saw that he was getting hard. God, that was the last thing he had ever thought about his mum’s friend, Mrs. Chester. She must be in her middle forties, and he was not long eighteen.

He dismissed the thought and dressed in the clothes she had left for him. The shorts were a twenty-eight inch waist and the shirt medium sized, but it seemed shrunken. About the only thing that was big enough was the pair of socks. These he pulled up to his knees to protect his legs from any nettles or thorns, in the garden. He realized then that he couldn’t fit his underwear under the shorts and still move, if he was working, so he simply pulled the shorts on alone. They were simple shorts, with no internal 'net' to catch any stray elements, if he happened to get aroused.

As he left the room he fought the temptation to glance again up at the photograph. He lost. He glanced, and in his shorts, he felt a short rush of blood.

He descended the stairs and discovered that Dorothy was already in the garden. She was gloved and digging, and wearing a pair of close fitting jeans, an old mans shirt, and rubber boots.

“Ah there you are, did you find the bathroom alright, it’s a bit of a maze up there?”

“No sorry, I went in your room and changed as you suggested.”

“Oh that’s fine too,” she replied smiling at him.

He looked over at her digging, saw the same leather strap, and heard the same jangling bracelets as he had seen in the photograph. Then he noticed first one, then the other nipple straining against her top. She was clearly wearing a brassiere, but such was their poke, he could still see their outline. He suddenly had a funny feeling between his thighs, and realized that blood was again rushing to the area!

“Here give me a hand with this, I could do with some muscle.”

She smiled, leaned back, and allowed Jonathan in to the space to tussle with one of several rocks in an old rockery. Now it was her turn to notice. Without realizing it she had chosen clothes for him that were highly suitable. This was not so much for the job in hand, but rather to show off his nice little smooth hard cyclist’s body, something she had never noticed before. She had only ever seen him in the background of conversations with his mother, and rarely spent any time with him, let alone on his own.

While he heaved, she glanced down at his young developing arm muscles, and those of his thighs. Those shorts were unfairly small. She smiled to herself as she noticed the back seam bury itself between the tight cheeks of his firm bottom. The top was equally small, more in terms of its length, giving her views of his smooth midriff. This was quite an unexpected side to the job in hand, and one Dorothy had never envisaged.

She was in the kitchen, when her friend called. It was Collett from the College.

“Why don’t you pop over later,” suggested Dorothy. “I am rather tied up in the garden at the moment.”

“Sounds fun,” said Collett, smiling at her end.

“Oh nothing that exciting, I just have some help today. The son of a friend of mine, at the golf club, is earning some holiday money.”

“I see Dorothy. I will be round later to make sure that he has earned his day’s wages!”

Dorothy looked up from the sink where she was putting away her washing up. Jon was leaning back on his spade. He had got a lot done and looked a little hot and bothered, a little red, a little sweaty. His golden downy forearms were exposed, bared socks were now slipped down to his ankles and his wet hair was plastered over his face.

She tapped the window.

“Would you like a drink?” she mouthed.

He nodded.

She wondered whether he would get hot enough to take his top off. She slipped upstairs and put away some washing and noticed that Jon had left his little heap of cycling gear.

“Typical untidy boy,” she thought and picked them up. She noticed that his underpants were also in the pile. She picked them up too, and quickly sniffed the crotch out of curiosity. She could smell sweaty boy, mixed up with some cheap teenage body deodorant in it somewhere. They looked fairly new. They were briefs, but that was all she could tell. She couldn’t see any sticky residues, not that she was looking for them of course.

Jon was heaving at another pile of rocks when she came back into the garden. The sun was out, and it was hot. He had taken his top off. She had difficulty not staring at his smooth, firm, but coltish upper body. Small crisp nipples topped off a flawless chest and abs. She felt a flutter between her legs.

“Gosh he was rather well turned out,” she thought.

“I wonder, can I use your bathroom?” he said, looking at his borrowed boots.

Dorothy looked up and tore her eyes away from his chest.

“If you slip your boots off, you can use the downstairs cloakroom.”

He went inside, as she set out about planning the next task.

She heard the flushing noise pretty much as she heard the front door bell go. It must be her friend, Collett.

Dorothy went to the front and smiled at her friend. Collett was wearing a pastel shaded blouse and fawn slipover, with a string of pearls to her neck and tartan skirt below.

“Hello Dorothy; how is the garden? How is your helper coping with you and your changing mind?”

Dorothy laughed. “Come and see,” she said.

The women moved to the kitchen. They looked out at the worker.

“Oh it’s progressing well I see. Are you going to move the compost heaps too?”

“I haven’t decided yet, we have heaps of grass and other cuttings, but they take ages to rot. I'm not sure I want to keep them anymore.”

Collett laughed.

“Nonsense Dorothy, you haven’t been treating them properly. You need uric acid, lots of it.”

“Where do I get that from?”

“Well a good source is urine, but some is better than others. The best stuff is from teenagers, boys in particular, the hormonal mix is quite fantastic.”

Dorothy laughed. “Then I will need to get Jonathan to pee on it outside. I will have to bar him from using the bathroom.”

Jonathan passed slightly embarrassed, but not understanding the reference.

“Hello”, he said to the lady in Dot’s kitchen.

He went outside.

“Is that your little helper Dorothy?”

“Indeed.”

Collett thought for a moment.

“You should get him to pee on it, he looks eighteen. His urine would be the best you can get. Ideally you could direct him on to the compost personally, as he probably won’t spread it around properly. To save the embarrassment, get him to pee into a container and you can spray it properly and carefully, later.”

Dorothy smiled. “Well I can only ask him, I suppose.”

The women went out into the garden. They observed the boy laboring and sweating. Dorothy wasn’t the only woman watching, without feeling a tiny bit aroused.

“Even better ask him to pee into a bottle when he's home, and bring it in with him to work!”

Dorothy laughed, slightly embarrassed, but out of earshot of the boy.

“I can’t do that Collett.”

“Well the alternative here is to get hold of his member and direct the spray for him in person.”

They both giggled, but both secretly wondered, what that might be like.

“I'll broach it before he goes home. Come inside now.”

What neither realized was that Jonathan had just been in the cloakroom. He had not been just peeing however, but also masturbating. He had been thinking about the arty bedroom shot of Dorothy, and added to it what he had seen of her in the garden. It was all he could do to avoid getting an erection in the shorts she had provided. He wasn’t sure if he could do this job, but he was certain he had a controlled explosion to set off, and soon. Dot had not noticed as Jon had turned away on his way to the cloakroom, just how prominent, he was fast becoming.

He slipped inside, his boots had been quickly tossed in the kitchen. He locked the door and yanking down his tight shorts released a veritable tower of power. Peeling back the plum head on his penis, it twanged into view. He gasped at its stiffness, an effect, for which Dorothy was solely responsible. God, he did not know what was turning him on, but he thought it must be something to do with Mrs. Chester. It was something he hadn’t, as a younger boy, noticed before. She was hot, but he couldn’t work out how.

He heard her at the front door, as he slowly stretched his foreskin, hard, back and forth, as quietly as he could. He tried not to breath loudly, even though all he wanted to do was to moan with the tension.

Then he noticed she had left her watch by the basin in the cloakroom where he was standing. He felt sure it would help. He grabbed it, wrapped the dark brown leather strap around his cock and balls and did it up, tight. His cock swelled as it fought the constriction of the strap, something that had so recently been around her left wrist. Nine or ten slow firm tugs later, and he was squirting cum into the basin, and shooting a couple of gobs on to the mirror, above. No more than six feet away, on the other side of a thin door, Dorothy had been greeting Collett.

He was gasping and heaving, but trying so hard to be quiet in doing so. It was one of the biggest orgasms he had had for some months. He could hear the women chatting in the kitchen as he started mopping up. Finally, easing the last of the cream from his tip, he went back to the garden, through the kitchen, to work.

Later that day he felt something odd when he was cycling back home, but thought no more of it.

When he went to take a shower, he felt the constricting band again around his shaft and balls. He looked down and saw that it was Dorothy’s wristwatch. He had forgotten to take it off. It felt snug, but as an old wind up one, he doubted it could survive in the shower. He therefore unbuckled and eased it off.

It was only later, when he was lathering up, did he wonder how he would be able to explain its absence from her home.

He showered on.

His thoughts came back to the woman herself. Old enough to be his real aunt, he tried to work out the clear effect she had on him.

As he washed himself, he thought back to a couple of times when he had chanced to be sat behind her, in club meetings, over the last year. As the speaker droned on he had taken to studying her back, the back of her head, and her neck. She had a very fine neck, not fat, with quite delicate lightly toned skin, with a crop of fair hairs. Above, was her close, bobbed, dark hairline, flowing down to a loose necked top. It had been hot in the room, during that boring meeting, and his eyes dropped to her shoulders, and then in turn to each armpit, just visible under the shoulder line.

When she bent to pick up a book, he noted the tangle of dark hair sprouting, and remembered wondering idly whether she had other sprouts, elsewhere on her body. She had a little moustache, and he could see dark short hairs on her forearms in the right light. She had that slightly imperious serious look, that could put you in your place, and a way of looking mildly disgusted, whilst at the same time, amused.

While he washed, his musings reminded him again of the black and white pictures in their bedroom; of the pearl drop view of the tops of her exposed breasts, and thence to the fluffed tips.

Nearing the end of his shower, and with his thoughts coming together once more, he pulled back vigorously, five more times. The last pull exposing the dark, purple, plum, helmet, of his young, developing, cock. In the shower, he suddenly groaned quite audibly, and shot jet upon jet of rich cream at the cubicle tiles. As he did so, he wished she was watching him right now, with her dirty look of disdained interest, as he splashed the tiling, and leant back gasping for air. He hadn’t cum so hard for months.

End of part 1